


What Brings A Blush

by quicksparrows



Series: Side by Side – Chrobin [9]
Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-29 10:27:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19828237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quicksparrows/pseuds/quicksparrows
Summary: "What an interesting dress that is," Frederick remarks."Do you think Lord Chrom will like it?" she asks. She twirls. Her backside is almost entirely exposed, and the sheer fabric balloons out in a way that only emphasizes how athletic her physique is underneath.She must run a lot. Perhaps she will make for a fine running partner during her stay.The story of how Frederick and Olivia spent one spring as, ah, "running partners."





	What Brings A Blush

**Author's Note:**

> I actually wrote this in late 2017, intending to publish soon after, but it sort of slipped by the wayside as I was transitioning from employment to self-employment at the time. No matter: here's actually the first story in this universe that is not expressly about Chrom and Ada, though they will be background characters. I wanted to write something a little more lighthearted and fun-sexy,
> 
> This is, of course, meant to shamelessly indulge Emmy (@chickenbabby on twitter), whose love for this pairing runs deep. She will be providing illustrations for this ficlet...... :)

💦 💦 💦 

Late spring is Frederick’s favourite time of the year.

There’s something about the new life, new growth narrative that has always appealed to him; in some ways he’s always felt his greatest accomplishments have come after the struggle and hard labours of winter. There is a mental exertion involved in doing _anything_ in the dead of winter, even the simple act of rising from bed at dawn, which comes so much later in the winter that Frederick feels lazy, taking advantage of the long nights. And what to do during the day? He could just sit by the fire with a mug of cocoa, if he were tempted to.

In spring, there are no excuses, no reasons to stay indoors. By the last few weeks of the cold season, the snowmelt has dried up and the rains are merry, and then the world is rewarded for its patience with sun and flower burst. He’s run ten miles every dawn for a week. He intends to do the same thing every day until next winter, and he will enjoy his break for exactly one week and then drag himself about until he can repeat the whole thing over again.

But despite his plans for a regular run, on this particular morning, his usual duties are shaken up. He has an errand to attend to on his Lord's behalf, one that will conveniently overlap with the time he would usually rouse his Lord from bed –– he has some suspicions that his Lord's tactician fiancée arranged such a thing, inspired by other spring passtimes, but he knows better than to quarrel with young lovers.

So today, Frederick takes his morning run a bit later to balance his schedule. If he keeps his usual pace and isn’t delayed, he should have time to wipe himself down and redress before making for the castle gates. 

Off he sets, clad in a loose shirt and loose trousers cropped at the calf, his soft leather shoes tied tightly. Normally he would jog in armor, as the weight added to its difficulty, but with an errand later, he would rather not be drenched so thoroughly in sweat.

He takes the path up around the castle's fortified walls, passing by guard stations and the paddocks, circling the kitchens and the brewery until he is out into the hilly area by the pond. The sun is rising steadily, and Frederick presses on, enjoying the burn in his calves and the pounding of his heart. This is a good run. The weather is nice, and the birdsong is sweet.

What a lovely day.

There’s a couple up ahead, nestled in the grasses in the crook of the hill, wound around each other like puppies. _Young love_ , Frederick thinks, _spurred on by the good weather freeing them from the confines of family housing._ As he approaches, he muses back to his teenaged years, when he'd tumbled a few girls on hillsides and in clover patches and, just once, in a patch of heather so fragrant he'd smelled it on his skin for days after.

Ah, young love.

He jogs right past the couple.

“Good morning, Ricken!” Frederick calls. _Tyrannical_ cheer, he’s heard that called.

Ricken ducks, as if his cowlicked red hair could be any less recognizable with his face buried in the arms of a girl his age. (Said girl looks up and scowls over Ricken's shoulder, defiant in the face of… well, good humor.)

Frederick just jogs on. Who would he be to interrupt? After all, he has a particular fondness for the birds and the bees himself, as unexpected as it might be to others.

Frederick glances up at the sun, at its pitch over the trees. He estimates that he has thirty minutes until he should be at the gates to wait for the carriage. He should look put together, perhaps even a little more formal than usual.

It’s not every day one accepts a gift from the Khans of Ferox, after all.

💦 💦 💦

Last time he’d laid eyes on Olivia, she’d been something of a godsend — if, of course, one considered the Khans gods. It had certainly felt that way at the time, to have this girl delivered to them at the eleventh hour and see them through the mountains.

At first Frederick had been skeptical. He’d like to think any seasoned soldier would be when told that Basilio, Khan of a nation of legendary fighters, had chosen to bring ten dancing boys and girls instead of ten more strapping warriors. But Frederick's mind had changed seeing these dancers. Before them, Frederick liked to consider himself a man of great endurance, fit to serve to his dying breath without complaint, but in the gutters of the Plegian-Ylissean mountains, his feet had ached and his spine strained and his throat had felt hoarse from shouting orders. Morale was shattered, and in more than one moment, Frederick had thought they'd surely die, run down by scattered Plegian forces, too demoralized and grief-stricken to even struggle.

And then there had been these dancers, straight-backed and proud despite the rain, footwork unfailing even as they moved over rocks in mere sandals. Their light arms seemed more of a formality than any practical use, for their sheer stamina and courage spurred the rest of the troops.

The most eye-catching of which was Olivia, of course. While she lacked a commanding voice or a brave face, she made up for with sheer spirit. Her economy of motion was immaculate, her energy seemingly endless.

Frederick had never felt such immediate, inspired renewal. Well after their parties had been divided to escape through the mountains, he'd heard bells jingling in his ears, reminding him to push on.

If that girl could do it, shivering in the rain and using her body to shield the light of her lantern, then any seasoned knight could. They'd go to their graves in shame, otherwise.

“How on earth did Ferox come to use _dancers?_ " Frederick had uttered, sometime in the small hours of the morning. It had seemed trite, but it was something to talk about, something to put his mind from Lissa's wracking sobs, from Chrom's blistering anger, from Ada near death as her constitution failed her. Gods, even to just take his mind off the cold rain running freely down his back!

Basilio had just laughed.

"Dance is a part of Feroxi culture," he'd said, pride overcoming his own tiredness. "And like everything else, we do it with vigor. Does Ylisse not take pride in the art?"

"We don't have dance like this."

And Basilio had laughed again, deeper.

Now, Frederick watches the Feroxi carriage come to a stop at the gates. It is a large carriage, with tall sides and a curved roof, and the windows are shut, the curtains drawn. The varnished wood is painted in bright red and white, the war colours of the current Khan Flavia. He waits, hands at rest behind his back, patient as can be while waiting for their guest to emerge.

The door rattles.

Some trouble, it seems.

Frederick steps forward and unlatches the handle; it is stiff, but not unlocked. The door opens with a firm tug, and out tumbles its occupant. Frederick has to scramble to catch her – no simple feat, when she is hurtling forward head-first –– but he scoops her up, safe from even a single scuff on her alarmingly exposed skin.

She lets out a startled noise, an "eep!" no louder than a mouse might make, and even once she's firmly still in Frederick's arms, she draws her hands in close to her face and screws her eyes shut and braces herself for an impact that never comes.

He looks down at her face and thinks it odd that Basilio had considered this girl less alluring than his other dancers, and then she opens her eyes.

"Oh!" she startles. "Frederick! I'm not normally so clumsy, but the door––"

She goes beet red up to her hairline suddenly, and her lips flap soundlessly. She looks like she might even cry, huddled in his arms.

"Was stuck?" Frederick supplies.

He sets her on her feet and she straightens out, frantically smoothing the front of her outfit. She's wearing a sheer white dress, the fabric wrapped around her lithe form in such a way that Frederick thinks he could pull on a single thread and loose the entire swath from her, leaving her in naught but a skimpy white and gold number. He thinks there is perhaps more jewelry on her than fabric. It can't have been very comfortable to travel in, certainly, even on the furs and pillows he can see just inside the carriage doors.

"What an interesting dress that is," Frederick remarks.

"Do you think Lord Chrom will like it?" she asks. She twirls. Her backside is almost entirely exposed, and the sheer fabric balloons out in a way that only emphasizes how athletic her physique is underneath.

She must run a lot. Perhaps she will make for a fine running partner during her stay.

"I think Lord Chrom will like it just fine," Frederick says. It occurs to him that he hasn't a clue what Olivia is expecting to find inside Ylisstol Castle, or what she has been prepared for or told since their fateful escape from the mountains. So, as delicately as he can muster, he adds: "I'm not sure his fiancée will."

Olivia's eyebrows fly up.

"Oh! He got engaged?" she asks. And then, scrambling: "I–I'll have to give him my, um… congratulations!"

Frederick ponders telling her that it's natural to be disappointed –– Chrom made for a highly desirable bachelor, after all, and any number of women would have crossed the world just for a chance to be taken as his bride. Frederick can't imagine why any woman wouldn't want to be with Lord Chrom, either; even if he wasn't poised to be the Exalt, he'd still be a talented swordsman, an excellent commander and a thoroughly kind and compassionate person. And perhaps, if Chrom wasn't firmly engaged now, or hadn't met his lady in the field that day, Olivia would be a first choice candidate.

No sense in telling Olivia that, though. It would just add to the disappointment.

"He's a very happy man," Frederick remarks instead. "But not to worry! If it is Khan Basilio's will that you, ah… fight at Chrom's side as a member of the Shepherds, then that is a will we gladly uphold. You will be well taken care of here, as a guest of honour." 

"Good," Olivia says. "I'm… honoured…"

She looks a little bit like she's going to cry. Frederick looks at the pinch of her lower lip and the swell of tears in her eyes and he feels as though he has disappointed her, even though he's only been a messenger at best to this bad news.

And so he offers her a hand.

"And in the mean time, I'm happy to be your personal escort," he says. "I shall see you are well taken care of here, Olivia."

She looks up at him. Her eyes are big and round, and in that instant she looks just like the fluffy little black-eyed dogs the ladies of nobility tote around in their purses. Her mouth curves into a smile.

"Oh!" she says. "That would make me very happy!"

Frederick gets the distinct impression that he is making a very large promise, but his duty to his lord is a duty to his lord's guests, and so he feels no regrets.


End file.
